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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23356405">How Sweet The Scar</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas'>cathrheas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commissions [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, F/M, Knifeplay, Married Couple, Office Sex, Post-Time Skip, Sadism, Vaginal Sex, but like, emotionally, y'all know the drill B)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:29:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,339</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23356405</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, that’s not what I’m concerned about. I was wondering about the things he said? Like...the part about pain? And your blade? Could you...explain that?”</p><p>“Ah. Heh, yeah, figured you’d ask about that at some point...” Sylvain had a sly, fox-like grin on his face, like he was about to make another wise-crack, but his smile soon fell. “I really hope you won’t think differently of me for this.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commissions [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How Sweet The Scar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nexidava/gifts">Nexidava</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Another commission for Nexidava~! What a legend :D</p><p>Feel free to check out <a href="https://twitter.com/cathrheas">my Twitter</a>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bernadetta liked the Gautier estate a lot. She never told Sylvain that, knowing that he had his own history with his family that he had to wrestle with, but she was glad that her father gave her away so easily. Once Margrave Gautier passed, things were even better—another thing she wouldn’t bring herself to admit to Sylvain, even though he might have agreed. Sylvain was a little spoiled, being the first Crest-bearing son of a Kingdom noble, so it was unavoidable to have servants still working at the estate. Besides that, though, it was just them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was like something out of a story book. Her father’s ideals of marriage were so painful, so horrifying, that Bernadetta had to imagine something else just to get through the day. Being swept away into some faraway castle, with the love of her life, shut out from the outside world. Her actual life with Sylvain turned out to be a little different—she didn’t expect him of all people to be the love of her life, and he wouldn’t let her shut herself in too long, and although the Gautier estate was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> it wasn’t really a castle—but it still made her heart race all the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She liked to spend her time in Sylvain’s office when he wasn’t home. His scent tended to linger, and if she thought real hard and imagined it, his warmth would linger, too. He was never gone for long (he made it clear to everyone where he’d rather be), but it was difficult not to miss him at all. She found solace, sitting in his leather office chair. Sylvain kept plenty of reading material in his office, too. He had done away with most of the political books and surveys that his father had kept laying around, and instead filled his shelves and desk with knight tales and love stories.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta liked to read too many books at once, until she didn’t know where she’d left off in any of them. Sylvain liked to take his time, picking one up and not picking up another until he was finished with the first. Sitting quite neatly at the center of his desk was a leather-bound novel, a light read. She picked it up and read the title: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sheath.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was very vague. It could be a knight book, it could have been some sort of euphemism.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Curious, Bernadetta sat down, opening it to the page where he’d left off. She hummed pleasantly when she noticed that he’d used an envelope as a bookmark. He usually left things neater than that, while Bernadetta was more the type to shove scraps of paper between pages and call it a day. Sylvain and Bernadetta were rather open with each other, so she didn’t mind opening the letter and reading it—strange how there was no recipient on the outside of the envelope, but that made it even more interesting to open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The handwriting wasn’t familiar at first glance. As Bernadetta looked at the words, she started to realize more than the handwriting was strange. The things the author was saying...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you, Sylvain. I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta flushed with embarrassment, then tensed with anger, then paled in fear. Her mind was getting ahead of her, just like Sylvain always said it did. She hadn’t read the whole thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Sylvain,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you for your response. I almost thought you wouldn’t respond to me after you were wed. I’m delighted to hear that you’re so happy, but I miss you so much that it’s hard to think sometimes. I never thought I’d enjoy pain like that, but I’m addicted to it. I’ve tried to replicate that feeling on myself, but it never feels as good when I’m not in your arms. The sharp sting of your blade, the heat in my loins that followed...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you, Sylvain. I love you. And I know you feel these desires as much as I do. It hurt me to receive your rejection. Do you not miss what we had? Are you truly satisfied how you are? I pray your wife shares your interests, but if you ever find yourself unhappy, please know that you’re always in my thoughts...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta quickly stuffed the letter back into the envelope. She should have never opened it, why, oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> did she think it was a good idea to open it? Briefly, she contemplated opening it up again, reading the rest, finding out who it was from. But what if it was someone she knew?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Worse, what if they went into more detail?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta knew that Sylvain had had lovers before. It took her some time to get used to, and she was actually rather glad to find that he’d turned down the author of the letter, but he’d never went into </span>
  <em>
    <span>detail.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He never told her that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> people, and that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was strange. She’d seen enough pain, felt enough pain, to know that...it wasn’t nice, right? People caused you pain because they hated you. Did Sylvain hate this person? He couldn’t have, if they were so desperate for him to take them back—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bern?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta screeched at the sound of her name, jumping so hard that Sylvain’s desk chair nearly tipped over. There he was, the man of the hour, standing at the door of the office. “S-Sylvain! Oh, why do you sneak up on me like that...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t sneaking up on you. I thought you’d hear me. Sorry, babe.” Sylvain came closer, and Bernadetta froze as he looked at the paper in her hands. “Whatcha got there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-a letter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Who from?” Sylvain took the envelope from her hands, looking over it, and at that moment, Bernadetta considered running. It was an old habit of hers that was really hard to break, but even she realized how absurd it would be if she ran...especially since they slept in the same bed every night. Sylvain clucked his tongue, nodding. “Oh, this one. Man, I forgot all about it, didn’t even get to read it. Stuffed it in my book and left it behind...who doesn’t write their name on an envelope, anyway?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“H-hah, yeah, strange. You should just throw it out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah. We’ve got plenty of dumb friends,” Sylvain joked, reopening the envelope. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Goddess, why is life so unfair? Why can’t he take a hint?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “No telling which one of them went and did this. Let’s see...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bernie, you can still run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, this is...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just get up, and run. You can go to Dorothea’s village, maybe!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh, man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Never mind. It doesn’t matter where you go! Just run! Run!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh, Bern. Did you happen to read this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...No?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you telling me no, or asking me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sylvain was merely teasing, a nervous smile playing at his lips, but Bernadetta felt cornered. She didn’t even know what to say. She’d hardly had time to process what she’d read, and he wanted to ask her about it? “I’m sorry. I read it. I-I know that was a total invasion of your—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not your fault. We’re fine with this kind of thing, right? I don’t need to hide anything from you,” Sylvain said. He seemed troubled, almost guilty. Well, that made two of them. “I didn’t think he would send me this kind of thing. I already told him I was married, but I guess some people can’t help themselves...y’know. When it comes to a handsome young lad like me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, by the way. Did I say sorry? I’m sorry that you had to see that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s—it’s fine. It feels nice to know that you turned him down...because of me. Not like I thought you were cheating, or anything, okay? It just feels nice to know that you want me,” Bernadetta said, nervously picking at the tassel of her earring. “So, that’s not what I’m concerned about. I was wondering about the things he said? Like...the part about pain? And your blade? Could you...explain that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Heh, yeah, figured you’d ask about that at some point...” Sylvain had a sly, fox-like grin on his face, like he was about to make another wise-crack, but his smile soon fell. “I really hope you won’t think differently of me for this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta thought she would, when she was first looking at the situation—but as it rolled around in her head, she wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know. I just need to know what he was talking about, first.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Sylvain sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s pretty fair. It’s, uh...it’s pretty simple, actually. Not too hard to explain. He was an old friend of mine from our academy days. Nobody you knew, as far as I know. We were talking, and we both started talking about things we might like in the bedroom. Things we wanted to try, stuff like that. Sadism came up. Like, sadomasochism? You know what that is, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was confused, not naive...she’d read a few novels here and there that contained some elements of sadomasochism, but she never thought Sylvain would enjoy it. “Yeah. I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really regret it,” Sylvain said, desperately, like he was trying to justify himself. Then, he sighed through his nose. “But mostly, I regret not regretting it. It was kinda messed up. I barely knew him, but he was all gung-ho for me to just—hurt him like that. But even though I say that, I have to be honest, too: I liked it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really get it,” Bernadetta said. She put her hands to her cheeks and felt how warm they were. “I really don’t...understand that sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I figured you wouldn’t. I’m sorry, Bernie, I should have—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to apologize. I just don’t...” Bernadetta couldn’t even imagine it. Sylvain, blade in his hand, leaving cuts on some man’s body, and enjoying it. Sylvain, spilling someone else’s blood all over his fingers, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sylvain, making some kind of face as he did it. What kind of face would he even make? What did it make him feel? “You like it? You really like it? I just want to understand why.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t know. Honest, that’s the truth.” Sylvain had been holding the letter until then. He finally put it down, as if he couldn’t bear to hold it anymore. “It turned me on, even more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> could have expected.” Was Bernadetta imagining it, or did his voice go down a pitch or two? Did it tremble? If it did, if her mind wasn’t fooling her, was he shaking out of fear, embarrassment, or anticipation? “And it wasn’t really what I wanted. If I had it my way, if everything was as I wanted it? I would have been doing it with someone who loved me. Someone who trusted me enough to let me do that. But back then, I didn’t think anyone would really want me that much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You thought they wanted your Crest.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was twisted logic—so twisted that it was very Sylvain. But he wasn’t wrong. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> trust. If Bernadetta were to let him do that to her, she would have to trust him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she did. She did trust him. And he said he wanted someone to do it that trusted him, that loved him, and he’d finally found that. So who would she be to deny him...?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was scary. She didn’t know what to expect. The person in the letter said he liked it, and just minutes before, Bernadetta had thought he was insane. But maybe he felt the same way she did, maybe he just wanted Sylvain to feel loved. To feel trusted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sylvain sighed again. So much sighing...it was out of character for him. Moreover, when he spoke, he sounded ready to be scolded. “Yeah, Bern?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I love you. And I trust you. And I-I want you that much. So if you—if you really miss doing that kind of thing, then that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you’ve got it all wrong,” Sylvain exclaimed. “I didn’t say that to make you feel some type of way, Bernie. I was just trying to explain myself. You don’t have to do this. I know you think it’s gross, so—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I never said that! I didn’t understand it, that’s all. But after you explained to me a little bit...I get why you’d like that kind of thing,” Bernadetta said. “Y-you’ve always been with people who didn’t care about you. They just cared about your Crest. But I’m not like that, and I want to prove it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you’re not, Bernie. I wouldn’t have married you if I thought otherwise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even if you already know it, I want to show you. You’re right...this does show my trust. Even if it h-hurts, I know you don’t really want to hurt me. It sounds stupid, I know, but it makes sense to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sylvain studied Bernadetta’s face. She wondered if she was showing too much fear, if he’d turn her down. Sure, she was afraid, but in the end, it was Sylvain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sylvain, who was always so gentle with her. How could he hurt her? It was irrational, she knew that, and anyone else would have thought her insane, but she knew that wasn’t the case.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bernie...” Sylvain sounded exasperated. “Get out of the chair, alright?” Bernadetta raised her eyebrows, but did as she was told. The squeak of the leather was deafening. Sylvain took her place, sitting down with his legs spread. “Come here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O-okay.” Bernadetta approached him, and he pulled her down to sit on his lap, her back against his chest. During the war, she’d grown accustomed to the cool metal of his chestplate, but they were in peacetime, and she had the fortune of feeling the warmth of his broad chest instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you’re scared,” Sylvain said. “And I’m scared, too. On your behalf. And I’m scared that you really will think differently of me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta was imagining Sylvain’s face again, but her back was to him, and his chin was on her shoulder; she couldn’t quite see him. Instead, she just thought about his kind smile, the one he really only showed to her. “I won’t think differently of you, I already said it...I just want to make you happy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You always do.” Sylvain kissed her ear lobe, a small distraction as he pushed her skirt up. “Hold it, ‘kay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hold...? Oh.” Bernadetta grabbed the hem of her skirt. She was so nervous (but so glad) that she could hardly comprehend his words. She held it up to her waist, and he thanked her, sliding her panties down her legs. She kicked them off of her feet, and he parted her thighs. Their height difference was more noticeable when she was settled between his legs like that. It was easy for him to reach down and stroke her thighs, making her jump. He was touching her there, so sensually; was that the spot where he was going to cut her?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Reach into the drawer. Middle left. And take out my dagger.” Bernadetta wondered if he was testing her bravery, asking her to fetch his knife. And, for a moment, she almost failed, but then she started moving on autopilot. She opened the drawer, and saw that his knife was the only thing there. She took it out, and he grabbed it from her, rewarding her with another kiss. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sylvain laid the flat of the blade on her thigh. It was cool, just like the leather of his gloves. As if on cue, though, he slipped the glove of his left hand off. The other still remained, and it held his knife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Close your eyes, Bern.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She did, and he didn’t wait a second longer. It turned out she was right. Along the top of her right thigh, he dug in with his knife. The cut was rather shallow, Bernadetta thought, but the pain was still sharp and unignorable. Bernadetta reached back and clutched Sylvain’s hip. As if to quell her pain, he used his ungloved hand to stroke her slit. When, exactly, had she gotten so wet? She couldn’t even remember.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was always so easy for her when she was with Sylvain. No matter what they were doing, he made her existence much easier. Even pain like that, inflicted upon her by her lover, felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span> to handle. Her body eased into it even more, and she got wetter against his fingers as they slid into her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hushed her gently, and it was only then that she realized how loudly she was whining and crying out. She hadn’t felt pain like that since the war.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, she’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt pain like that. She’d never felt pain that felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sylvain was taking his time pushing his fingers inside of her, pulling them out, pushing them back in, and the dagger wasn’t moving any faster. She already felt light-headed and dizzy with pain and adrenaline after the first cut was complete; then, he moved higher up Bernadetta’s leg, closer to her dripping womanhood, and began to cut her again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goddess, Bernadetta,” he breathed. Sylvain so rarely said her full name like that those days, with such emotion and longing. That was how she knew he was serious. “Never thought I’d be lucky enough to see you like this, to do this to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta shifted in Sylvain’s lap until she could feel his erection. He made no reaction besides pushing his hips forward into her lower back. It was hard to distinguish sensations beneath her waist by then, but if she wasn’t mistaken, he dug the knife a bit deeper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A third cut came, a little faster than the second one had. Her legs were trembling. Whether it was from the pain or the feeling of his long fingers inside of her, she couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both. Bernadetta’s leg jumped suddenly when she felt the knife leave her, moving to her other leg, the one that had been unmarked until then. He made another cut, carefully; it was almost identical to the first one he’d left on her right leg.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was bleeding onto his chair, his inner legs. It was a sloppy job, despite his neat handiwork. She often felt over-exposed when they were making love, and this time was no different, but she somehow felt protected, having him wrapped around her like he was. Even when he was causing her pain, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>burning</span>
  </em>
  <span> pain, Sylvain was still protecting her, cherishing her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bernie? You okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s...this is a lot,” she admitted. “But it’s good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a little more,” he said. When was the last time she’d heard his voice like that? So husky, so seductive, but with none of the fake-romantic bullshit that she’d heard from him during their academy days. “A few more, Bernie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He added a second cut to her left leg, and she felt herself clench around his fingers. Bernadetta couldn’t have predicted how good it’d feel, how the harsh tingling in her leg could move right to her swollen clit. “Sylvain? I-I want you,” she said, delirious. His cock was getting harder against her, he was getting more excited. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. One more.” Sylvain was pleading with her as he dug the knife into her flesh one more time, breaking skin and releasing more blood to gush down the sides of her legs. Before, she might have fainted at the sight of her own body being so torn up, but she couldn’t. Not when it was Sylvain. She felt more alive than ever before, looking at the bright red blood coming from out of her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The knife clattered atop the desk, and Bernadetta took the moment to appreciate how bloody Sylvain’s glove was, how bloody the knife was. She didn’t have much time to appreciate it, though, because Sylvain was moving faster than she could comprehend. He lifted her easily, bending her over the desk and sweeping everything off of it, including the dagger. The piercing pain of her wounds was exacerbated when she was moved so roughly, but she let him do it, waiting anxiously as she heard him undo his breeches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did so good, Bernie. You have no idea how good that made me feel,” Sylvain said. Even he sounded more vulnerable than usual. It was a strange situation they had rushed into, but for reasons Bernadetta couldn’t fathom, she felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>comfortable.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She was bleeding on his desk, his chair, his hands, and he was telling her that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, but not a single thing felt off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only thing wrong with the picture was the fact that he hadn’t fucked her yet, and he quickly, as always, remedied the situation. Placing his gloved hand on her shoulder for balance, he gripped himself and pushed into her. After a brief moment for her walls to settle around him, he began to thrust; Bernadetta realized just how turned on he was, feeling how unusually clumsy his strokes were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They still felt amazing, though. Sylvain </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt amazing. And it felt even better when her thighs bumped against the edge of the desk, reminding her of what he’d done to her. What she </span>
  <em>
    <span>let</span>
  </em>
  <span> him do. In the end, everything still felt so good, and she felt more in love with Sylvain than she ever thought she would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d already worked her up with his fingers, and she knew he was hard from the way his member was pressing against her back before. Even though Bernadetta’s legs were shaky, she managed to push herself back on his dick, trying to get him deeper inside of her. Sylvain was hitting all of the right spots, even in his rush to completion. He was moaning a bit more than usual, too, a subtle reminder to her that he was loving what they were doing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain, please,” Bernadetta managed to say. It was hard to find her words, between Sylvain’s relentless thrusting and the throbbing of her wounds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed to be enough for him. Maybe her pleading showed that same vulnerability that he had wanted, she didn’t know. Sylvain leaned over her back, pressing her into the desk, and started to fuck her faster. Her legs trembled even harder, her lower body tensed up completely. His heavy pants in her ear told her he was getting closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cum with me, Bernadetta,” he said, finally, pinning her hand to the desk and winding their fingers together. Bernadetta felt him spilling into her, felt his warmth, although she’d thought it was impossible for her to get any hotter inside. Sylvain kept going, riding out his own climax and bringing her to hers. The cuts on her leg started to throb, louder and hotter and more demanding of her attention, before fading into the background. She couldn’t focus on anything else but her own body, the sensations that Sylvain was steadily pumping into her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Syl...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. You’re alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta felt like dead weight on the desk, and although she liked having Sylvain near her, she certainly didn’t feel any lighter with him pressing down on her. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him to move; she only wanted to keep him close, even if it meant laying there forever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, Sylvain was a little more realistic. Stroking her hair back as he did, Sylvain finally pulled out, sighing as he pulled up his pants. “Went over better than I expected, to say the least,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta laughed a little, but the exertion made her realize just how painful those cuts were when the adrenaline high was dying down. “Sylvain? I really liked that—really, I did, but, um...it sort of hurts, now, so—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No worries! No worries. I’ll have one of the servants draw a bath for us, okay? Or I can just get a wet cloth and clean you up, if you’re tired. Whatever you want, Bernie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to have a bath,” she said. Sylvain was looking at her so earnestly, and she knew she was selfish, but she was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>glad</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he didn’t show that genuine nature to anyone else. She was glad that she didn’t show herself to anyone else, either. He was right, she decided; Bernadetta had shown Sylvain her trust. “And, I know this is stupid, but...could you carry me there, maybe? S-since my legs are a little—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to say another word, baby. I’ll carry you here, there, anywhere you wanna go.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Still so extravagant about these things.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Stay right here, okay? I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sylvain ducked out, closing the door behind him. It was only when she heard the latch click that she wondered how he was going to explain away the blood he’d gotten all over him, but she couldn’t even worry about that too much. She stood up straight on her wobbly legs, looking at the mess they’d left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is really too much...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So much blood, not to mention the nectar that had run down Bernadetta’s legs in the middle of it. She couldn’t help but smile, though, despite the mess. Because she was thinking about Sylvain, and how much trust and love she’d put into him, and how </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was to see her do so. She wondered if anybody had ever shown him love like that, even if they didn’t show it like she did. Even if nobody had before...she was fine with being the first, so long as he kept showing her those sides of him. The sides that were so intimate, so vulnerable, and so emotional.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll show you every part of me,” Bernadetta mumbled to herself, quite joyously. She couldn’t stop her hand from floating to the handle of the knife—it was still warm from Sylvain’s hand. “So keep showing me you, too.”</span>
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